


Old Acquaintances

by DameRuth



Series: Flowers [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Torchwood and UNIT, Vignette, You know this meeting had to have happened sometime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: The Doctor has more people looking out for him at any one time than he usually suspects.[Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2009.12.27.]
Series: Flowers [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14017
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Old Acquaintances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for foalen (finally!), as a Support Stacie incentive fic, to the prompt: "I would love to see a changing of the guard kind of story between Jack and the Brigadier, since they are both very close to the Doctor and I think would have a very interesting conversation."  
> It ended up not quite being a changing-of-the-guard fic, and Jack and the Brig proved to have a relationship nearly as standoffish and prickly as the Doctor and Ianto in my Flowers!verse . . . which in turn leads me to consider it a part of Flowers, although it would also make a perfectly acceptable canon "missing moment," IMO.  
> Many thanks to foalen for great patience. At least it's a lot longer than the promised drabble-minimum. ;) For some reason, I needed to wait till the ending of the year to get this to work. I think it's because it took till now for me to realize the Brig would quote from "Auld Lang Syne" to bring the scene to a close . . . Set just after "The Hand of Fear."  
> 

" _Aberdeen?_ " the dark-haired man repeated with incredulous amusement. "Instead of Croydon? Oh, even for _him_ , that's lousy driving." He began to laugh, wholeheartedly.  
  
"So Miss Smith said. At length," Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart responded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in response to his companion's infectious mirth, even as he covertly scanned the crowd in the pub for reactions. A few people were looking their way, but no more than should be. All the same, he had to wonder (as he often had) about his opposite number's definition of a covert meeting.  
  
"I'll bet," said the man who called himself Captain Jack Harkness, though the Brigadier had reason to doubt that that was really his name, or his rank. "She doesn't strike me as a pushover." He took a sip from his glass — soda and lime, the only thing the Brigadier had ever seen him drink.  
  
"Miss Smith? Absolutely not."  
  
"I wish I didn't have to stay so far away from him. I'd love to meet some of these people," Harkness said, seeming genuinely wistful. "But there's too much chance of causing a paradox. I'm pushing it just talking to you."  
  
"Best not to risk stepping on butterflies, no," the Brigadier observed.  
  
That earned him raised eyebrows and a look of surprised respect. "I wouldn't have figured you for a Bradbury fan."  
  
"Ordinarily I wouldn't be," the Brigadier admitted. "But lately I've begun to consider reading science fiction a form of work-related research."  
  
Harkness chuckled. "Very practical of you," he said. Then he set his glass on the table and sobered. "Gallifrey," he said, musing. "Might be a while before we see him again. Relatively speaking, anyway. Though this is only his fourth life . . ." His face was shadowed, no sign left of his earlier amusement.  
  
"Is that significant?" the Brigadier asked.  
  
Harkness shot him a narrow-eyed glance, as if remembering his company, and switched tracks. "At least he managed to get away clean again. I've got Torchwood chasing their tails over a few false leads — which isn't easy, let me tell you, when there's a nuclear reactor and the RAF involved. Even Torchwood tends to notice something that high-profile." The contempt in his voice was loud and clear.  
  
"I thought _you_ were Torchwood," the Brigadier responded.  
  
"No, like I said, I'm a consultant who does freelance work for Torchwood, on and off," Harkness said, his handsome features gone hard and cold. "That and I keep them off the Doctor's back."  
  
"You've got access to an amazing amount of highly classified material for someone who's just a consultant," the Brigadier observed, touching on an aspect of their exchanges that had always bothered him. He watched closely for Harkness's reaction.  
  
Harkness shrugged, shifting moods again. "What can I say?" he replied with a disarming grin. "I know who to sleep with to get all the good intel."  
  
"Who do you work for, really?" the Brigadier asked.  
  
Harkness's eyebrows drew down. "I told you. I work for _him._ The Doctor."  
  
It was the same response he'd given back at their first meeting. The Brigadier had gone (with a concealed pistol and UNIT backup on call) to speak with the cryptic source of a message that had revealed far, far too good a knowledge of UNIT's inner workings and found this man, who alternated between seeming a cad and a bounder, a flippant con-man, and someone as dangerous as the most hardened military intelligence agents (and unofficial assassins) the Brigadier had ever encountered. Ordinarily, that combination would assure the Brigadier wouldn't trust Harkness any further than he could throw him, except . . . when Harkness mentioned the Doctor, something changed. The Brigadier had heard men speak of God and Country with that same fervent, unquestioning devotion.  
  
It was an odd thing, to trust the man because _he_ trusted the Doctor, but it was a motivation the Brigadier understood, and he knew the Doctor well enough to respect the Time Lord's judgment about the company he kept — or would keep.  
  
"So you said," the Brigadier agreed. "What will you do, now that he's taken off for the wild blue yonder?"  
  
Harkness shrugged, looking down into his soda and lime "Watch and wait, until the right version of him shows up. What I've been doing." He drank again, emptying his glass. "I guess I'll be in touch, if there's need." He set the glass down with a click that felt very final, and the Brigadier knew he wouldn't be seeing Harkness again for a very long time, if ever. Because it was his last chance, curiosity got the better of him and he asked a question that had been in his mind since the beginning of their association.  
  
"Are you one of them?"  
  
Harkness frowned, seeming genuinely confused. "One of who? Torchwood? I told you . . ."  
  
"No, the Time Lords."  
  
Harkness's jaw actually dropped and he stared in shock before beginning to laugh. It had a bitter edge to it this time.  
  
"Oh, _God_ , no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm as human as you are."  
  
"Really? That's interesting, given that there are records in the Torchwood Archive that were signed by a Jack Harkness as far back as the eighteen hundreds."  
  
Harkness looked neither surprised nor upset by the possibility that UNIT, like Torchwood, might have sources of information deep within the other organization. He gave a half-shrug and a smile, though his gaze was steady and piercing. "Common name," he said.  
  
"No, it's not."  
  
The smile faded and Harkness rose to his feet. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Brigadier," he said, with old-fashioned formality.  
  
The Brigadier stood as well. He didn't offer his hand, nor did Harkness. "I suppose I can say the same." He hesitated. "If I do hear more from the Doctor, I _will_ let you know. Looking after him is a full-time job, and UNIT can use all the help it can get."  
  
That earned the ghost of a smile. "You can say that again. Best of luck, and don't step on any butterflies. Oh, and I love the mustache." A wink and ironic salute, then Harkness turned in a flare of coattails and melted into the crowd far more quickly than a man with his height and dress sense should have been able to.  
  
The Brigadier sank back into his chair and picked up his half-finished drink. With a wry smile, he raised the glass in a silent toast to the Doctor, wherever he was, and the scattered fellowship of those who stood guard for him throughout Time.  
  
"And there's a hand, my trusty friend / And give us a hand of thine," he quoted. Then he had a quiet laugh at himself before going to settle up. If things ran true to form, he'd be paying for Harkness as well as himself. The man always seemed to get his soda and lime added to the Brigadier's bill.  
  
Just this once, he didn't mind.  


* * *

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This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=34667>


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